His Weapon
by Marlex
Summary: Arya is back in Westeros and has reunited with Jon, who is working to reclaim the north. She knows she has skills that can help him, but is afraid of what he will think when he learns of what she has become. Jon/Arya. (Now a collection of interconnected shorts.)
1. His Weapon

**Author's Note:** A short story I wrote for the CommentFic community on LiveJournal. The prompt was: _Would you leave me/If I told you what I've done?/And would you need me/If I told you what I've become? _The story takes place in a speculative future setting. Warning: It does include mentions of Jon/Arya romance, so if that bothers you, probably best you look elsewhere.

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Arya allowed herself a rare moment of contentment, feeling Jon's strong arm wrapped around her in the bed they shared. He was asleep, but even with his eyes closed, he seemed ready to protect her from anything that might come their way.

Of course, she could protect herself quite well, and how done so many times, but it was nice to know she didn't have to do it on her own anymore.

Even after two months, she found it hard to believe that they had found each other. After so much time and so much loss, it didn't seem possible they she could experience happiness once again. They had each thought the other dead, and had heard stories telling how it happened, each one more horrible than the last.

But then, shortly after returning to Westeros, she began hearing rumors of a Black Knight rallying troops and lesser lords in the north. A Snow. The Snow. So she followed the rumors, selling her sword when it would get her closer to her destination. She had many faces now, and used almost every one before she found his camp.

After scouting the area, she approached, using her own face for the first time in seemingly years. There was shock on his face when he saw her, then hope, like he was willing himself to believe what eyes were telling him. Then there were hugs and tears and a celebration, although her identity was kept a secret from all but those closest to him.

The days and weeks that followed were now a blur, with events and conversations blending together so only the feelings remained clear. She wasn't sure how a reunion with her half-brother turned into something more, but if she was honest with herself, it was something she had always wanted, even back at home before that damned King Robert came and took her family south to their deaths.

Even with them sharing a bed and her helping him with his plans to stake his claim to the North, there was sometimes an awkwardness around them, and she knew much of grew from her absolute refusal to tell him what had befallen her since her trip across the Shallow Sea. She relayed the details of her escape after their father's murder, and the various misadventures she had undertaken on her trip northward, along with her time with the Hound. But nothing after the moment she stepped foot on that ship sailing eastward. That was her secret, especially from him.

She knew even with the change in her relationship, he saw her as the little sister who wanted to play the knight. But she was no knight. She had blood on her hands, to be sure. He did too, of course, but her blood was not the kind that washed off. She had become something else.

Arya had to admit that much of her silence came from the fear that if he learned of what she had done and what she had become, he would turn her away, unable to reconcile his image of her and the truth of her.

But she knew that those skills, the ones she'd earned through harsh and rigorous training, would be of great use to Jon in his current pursuits. She could do things that his many knights and lords wouldn't even consider on their worst days. And that's why she could be so valuable to him. Killing meant little to her at this point, but still, the idea of killing for Jon, and not just for coin or contract, was attractive to her.

But to be his weapon, he had to know what he possessed. And for that, she had to tell him, and risk being turned away. The Game of Thrones - as she had once her it called in what seemed like another life altogether - had claimed most of her family. She wasn't going to let it take Jon away from her too. Not when she could help him.

She gently shook Jon's shoulder, rousing him from his sleep. He started, but then his eyes found hers and a smile grew on his face.

"What's the matter?" he said, and the concern in his voice warmed her heart in a way that two months before she wouldn't have thought still possible.

"I want to tell you a story," she said after rediscovering her voice. "My story."


	2. Sword and Claw

**Author's Note:** So this was the result of another challenge at the CommentFic community on LiveJournal. (The prompt was: Any, Any, _Your sweet moonbeam / The smell of you in every / Single dream I dream / I knew when we collided / You're the one I have decided / Who's one of my kind. -_Hey Soul Sister by Train.) Unlike my other stories, this was written to specifically be a prequel to "His Weapon," so I decided to add it as a chapter here. Although I originally wrote "His Weapon" to potentially be a prequel to "Scorpion," I haven't decided if this will ultimately connect with that or go in another direction. Either way, this will most likely be more a collection of interconnected shorts than a true full-length story. I have another prequel short that I'm cleaning up and should be posted soon. What happens after that will be determined on how and when the inspiration hits. As always, I hope you enjoy and reviews are always welcome.

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_She was getting closer._

Jon Snow woke with a start, the dream weighing heavily on his eyes and his mind. Although he knew he was laying on his cot in his tent and could hear the rustling outside as men began preparing for the day, he could still feel the snow beneath his paws, the crisp winter air rustling his fur as he ran between the trees, keeping pace with her.

Ghost had left the camp weeks ago, disappearing without preamble one day. At first he feared one of his many enemies had found him and accomplished what so many other had tried and failed to do before.

Then, one night, he found himself in the forests. He could tell by the taste of the air and scent of the trees that he was well south, further south in fact than he had ever been on two legs.

Still gaining his bearings, Jon heard the howl piercing the night, cutting across the silence, only to be followed by another, then more, until the forest was filled with their calls, scores, if not hundreds.

He was quick, but with their numbers they soon had him surrounded, golden eyes peering at him from every direction, far enough away that he couldn't attack one without leaving his flank exposed to three others.

Then she appeared, so much bigger than the others, almost as big as he was. Confusion filled him, and then the wind shifted slightly and he caught her scent, tantalizingly familiar from a memory nearly lost to the ravages of time and horror.

_Nymeria._

His sister. His packmate, found again long after any hope had died.

They circled each other, sniffing the air. He knew he was bigger, stronger. He could defeat her, although it likely would cost him blood and fur and much pain. He could take this pack.

But this was hers. And he didn't want to take it.

Their eyes met. And the understanding was complete. They would share their pack. And they did.

The dreams continued, even though Ghost and Nymeria remained in the south, their numbers growing just as he continued to gather the lesser lords and knights of the north under his banner.

By day he gained swords while at night he and Nymeria pillaged the land, killing deer and lions with equal abandon. They were waiting, he realized one night, waking after a particularly successful hunt, the blood still filling his taste buds.

And then, quite suddenly, the waiting was over. He was racing with Nymeria, and their eyes met and what he saw staring back at him wasn't his wolf sister but his own sister, another soul thought lost. And she saw him.

_Arya._

And he howled, both in triumph and in sorrow, and her howl answered him, carrying the meaning of her words through his dream and into his waking mind.

_I'm coming._

And now the dreams came every night, finding him racing alongside his sister, each night bringing her closer to him. How she had found him, he had no idea, but it was now only a matter of time.

If the past several years had taught him anything, it was that hope was followed by only tragedy, but unlike before, their pack was strong, still growing on the path northward. Soon, they would be reunited, and with the sword and claw, they would take back the North and pay their enemies with blood.

Winter was here. And with it came teeth.


	3. Finding Each Other

**Author's Note:** This is the second prequel short I've written for this collection. I have some ideas of what happens next, but don't have them written yet. Like the others in this collection, this was based on a prompt at the CommentFic community at LiveJournal. (The prompt was: any, any, _And everything that's far away, / And was lost from me, / I see it all from here in you. -_Hem, "Hollow")

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Jon did his best to keep his attention on his advisers as they provided the latest troop numbers along with reports from their various spies. The north was an inhospitable place to its enemies during the summer, and this was winter. He could only hope that to the North itself, he and his men were not the enemy.

He was a Snow, not a Stark, but the North was his home, and he would protect it from both incursions from the South and invasions from beyond the Wall.

Finally, the reports were over and the men left him to return to their duties of the day. He allowed the quiet to blanket him. Between working to maintain their tenuous foothold during the day and his wolf dreams at night, the frayed edges of his consciousness were loosening under the pressure.

Jon felt more than saw the motion at the tent's flap, and then, appearing as if out of thin air, a young boy was standing before him, clad in leather, a sword scabbard in his belt.

Jon unsuccessfully resisted a jerk in his seat from the surprise. Although his numbers were growing and he didn't know everyone in his camp by their face, he was certain that this person was not one of his followers.

Without saying a word, the boy unsheathed his sword, its thin blade catching the line from the fire.

In the end, he recognized Needle before he realized his sister was standing before him.

"Arya?" he breathed, unable to allow himself the hope without proof.

"You gave this to me just before you left for the Wall and I left to watch our family die," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "For a long time, this sword was my only reminder of who Arya Stark was. There were times when I thought she died." There was a long pause before she added so softly that he could scarcely hear the words, "She may have."

And then without thought to the fact that she she was still holding the sword, he rushed her, grabbing her light body around the middle and picking her up. He felt her stiffen, coiling like a serpent ready to strike, and then the tension was gone, the sword clattering on the ground and her hands roughly grabbing at the back of his shirt.

"Jon," she sobbed.

"Arya," he echoed.

He looked into her eyes and saw a past filled with pain and loss and heartache, and knew she saw the same in his.

But despite the odds and tragedy, they had found each other. And for the first time in seemingly years, all was not lost.


	4. Broken Vows

**Author's Note:** Another prequel chapter, set midway between His Weapon and Finding Each Other. This one took awhile to finish since it's longer than the previous three chapters combined. This is also the one where this story goes from implied incest to not-so implied incest, so be warned. I have an idea for a direct sequel to this one, but beyond that, I don't have specific plans for future shorts, although I have a basic idea of where I want the story to go. I hope you enjoy. As always, reviews are welcome.

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Jon woke from the dream in a cold sweat, his sheets and furs wrapped tightly around his body. Instinctively, he thrashed about until he was free from his bonds, panting in the darkness of his tent.

As he lay there, flashes of the dream came back to him, and he felt the shame return once more. He still had the wolf dreams, even weeks after Arya arrived in camp, but what had woken him this morning was no wolf dream, nor was it the first one of its kind. He wished it would fade like so many others his mind created and quickly forgot, but the images stayed with him. Arya had been in the dream, in this very tent, with him, and they were alone. And he cupped her face, drawing her to him and then...Jon shook his head, hoping to dispel the vision of what happened next.

Arya was his sister. With everyone else either dead or presumed so, she was the only family he had left and the thought made Jon hate himself even more. What kind of brother was he to have these dreams? Was he no better than a Lannister?

Jon had been overjoyed to discover Arya alive and in his tent almost two fortnights hence. Since then he made sure to keep her close to his side as much as possible, a deep fear coming over him whenever she was out of his sight too long that she would disappear back into the shadows which had hidden her. He knew she could take care of herself. The fact that she was still alive in the chaos of Westeros was proof enough of that fact, even if she still wouldn't talk about certain elements of her journey from Kings Landing to here, including everything which had befallen her across the Shallow Sea. But Jon couldn't begrudge her secrets when he held so many of his own.

Which brought him back to his dreams. As bad as they were, if it were only the dreams, he might have been able to write them off as his subconscious mind trying to cope with discovering Arya alive after giving her up for dead not once but twice, older and more beautiful than when he had last seen her. But it wasn't only the dreams, not anymore, and the feelings they stirred within him while asleep were beginning to bleed into the rest of his waking hours as well.

Although she was thankfully unaware of how she had begun to affect him, it had not gone unnoticed that she had grown since they parted ways at Winterfell. They often supped together in his tent, spending their time reacquainting themselves with each other. Although she often wore men's clothes, some nights she arrived wearing a short shift, which would ride up during the course of the dinner, giving him enthralling views of her thighs. Other times, the shift would slide down, revealing a bare shoulder. He was not one beholden to his body's desires, but there was something about Arya which produced such...desire within him. He was ashamed of these thoughts, but his body seemed to care not at all.

Then there were her smiles, the ones she seemed to only have for him. The Arya who had returned to him wasn't prone to showing much emotion outside of anger, but in those quiet times together her features would soften, as if she was finally able to be herself after years of being someone else. It seemed to Jon that she wasn't even aware of the fact she was smiling, a fact that he found both endearing and alluring.

From where these new feelings for his sister had arisen, he didn't know, but they showed no signs of ebbing. In fact, there were some nights when her words and actions combined to nearly undo him so completely he considered the notion that, though he knew better, she was enticing him on purpose. Each time he quickly banished he thought, not allowing himself a chance to shift the blame from the perpetrator to the victim. No, he was the sinner and had to find a way to quell these feelings before he ruined the only good thing he had left.

Still in bed, Jon groaned and swept his hand through his hair, a fresh wave of self-loathing coursing through him even as his body betrayed him once again, the memories of his latest dream leaving him half hard and with no sign of settling down. Tossing the sheets aside, he didn't bother with a coat before quickly striding from his tent into the cold morning air. It took three buckets of icy water over his head before he felt his mind clear enough to return to his tent and prepare for the day.

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Jon couldn't meet Arya's eyes when she arrived in his command tent later that morning. Only two of his closest advisors were aware of her true identity. To the others, she was a spy working directly for him, and he knew was seen by several as an interloper considering how much time he spent with her. In fact, he realized that some might think there was an entirely different reason he kept her so close, but he refused to let his mind go in that direction. Either way, the amount of information she provided about their enemies' camps had proven invaluable to their campaign, winning over the others' respect, even if she didn't yet have their trust. Exactly how she had come by such knowledge was still a mystery to Jon, who was certain that even if she used Nymeria, she wouldn't have been able to learn all of the secrets she had given them without infiltrating deep into their inner circles.

Although her information helped them gain more ground in the previous two fortnights than they had in the previous eight, it left him worried about her safety. He briefly wondered if she was sneaking away at night to gain her secrets, but dismissed this thought as implausible.

Fortunately his advisors kept him busy for most of the day going over the plans for their next set of attacks, and he was at least temporarily able to push his dreams from his mind. He had considered eating dinner with his bannermen as a way to distance himself from Arya until he could get his feelings under control, but tonight he had something else he needed to speak about with his sister. After his latest dream, he was tempted to cancel, but he knew this was a conversation he needed to have with her and couldn't put it off any longer.

When the meeting was finally at an end, he asked her to meet him in his tent while he gathered two plates of food for them from the camp mess. He almost dropped their dinners when he walked through the flap of his tent to find her casually splayed on her stomach across his bed wearing her shift. She looked over her shoulder at him and there was her smile again, stopping him cold in his tracks. Their eyes met for a moment, but he quickly tore his gaze away and set the plates on a small table with two chairs set up in one corner of the tent.

"Jon," Arya said, as usual appearing oblivious to the effect she was having on him.

Not trusting his voice, Jone nodded in reply. Trying to keep his face neutral, he beckoned her to join him at the table. He waited for her to sit down, which she did with an impish curtsey, before taking his own seat. Despite the flurry of emotions raging through him, the dinner was a pleasant affair and they shared a casual conversation, each telling stories about their time apart. By now they both knew which subjects the other preferred not to speak about, and they stayed within the borders of safe discussion for the duration of the meal.

The food was consumed and they were sipping glasses of wine before Jon finally forced himself to broach the subject he was dreading.

"Arya," he said, and he could tell she noticed the change in his tone, a sudden tension entering her body. "Holgarth and Vance approached me a few days ago with an idea." They were the only ones who knew Arya's true identity.

Jon paused, wanting to make sure he worded what came next carefully, but Arya jumped into the gap he left open. "They want me to stake my claim," she said flatly.

He gaped at her in shock, but then realized she had to know that with Robb dead and Sansa missing for more than a year, she was next in line to inherit their father's title and land, including Winterfell. While a number of Eddard Stark's bannermen had joined him in his effort to reclaim the north, he knew many of them were doing so for a lack of better options with Bolton's bastard still holding fast in Winterfell and the Lannisters in King's Landing always keeping an eye northward for renewed conquests. Jon was a bastard himself and now an oathbreaker, so any hold he could have would always be tenuous at best. Arya, on the other hand, could potentially unite the north against their common enemies.

And that would put those enemies' focus squarely on her. Bolton had already tried to use Arya's name, which in turn had led Jon to where he was now, and he had no desire to put her at added risk. He wanted to keep Arya far from the Game of Thrones which had already killed the rest of their family.

Jon wasn't sure how the argument started, and after awhile, he wasn't even sure which side they each were on. Arya wanted no part of titles and lords, and the inevitable marriages and brokered deals such a path would lead her toward. But she also didn't want to hear about Jon protecting her from the danger of it all. As for Jon, he didn't want her to stake the claim, but felt compelled to defend his desire to keep her safe.

"I am not a fragile little girl," Arya said. "I wasn't back when we were at Winterfell and I'm sure as hell not now."

Her eyes blazed with the same fire he remembered from their days when the worst things he had to worry about was rude jokes from Theon and she a rampaging Septa swinging needlework. The memories took hold of him for a moment, and he realized that nearly every good event he could remember from his childhood involved Arya in some form or fashion, whether it was a shared laughter at a prank against Robb or sneaking away to watch the sunset from high up in a Winterfell tower.

Still lost in the past, he vaguely noticed Arya's expression change from one of anger and stubbornness to one of resolution and something he couldn't quite identify. He was still trying to figure out the missing piece when she suddenly launched herself across the table, grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a kiss. It was sloppy and desperate and their teeth clacked with the force of it. In shock, Jon couldn't make his body react, but when he felt her tongue exploring the outside of his lips, he grabbed her and forced her back.

"Arya, what are you doing?" he asked.

Her cheeks were flushed and she seemed to struggle to find her breath before answering. "Kissing you," she replied, answering in a decidedly Arya manner.

He blew out an exasperated breath. "I could tell that. I mean, why are you kissing me?" It seemed a stupid question, even to him, but one he absolutely needed an answer to.

"Because I love you. I've loved you for as long as I can remember. I didn't think I was even capable of loving anymore, but then I found you and my love was still there. And I kissed you because I had to know if I was right."

Jon was still struggling to understand how everything had come to this point, but managed to ask, "Right about what?"

"That you felt the same way about me. I see the way you look at me. You try to hide it, but I was trained to read people and what I see in you is the same thing I see in myself when I look in a mirror. I've done my best to attract your attention, giving you glimpses and teases, and at first I thought it was a lost cause. But lately, I've seen you taking notice. You do love me as I love you. I'm sure of it."

Jon's mind couldn't exactly comprehend the idea that Arya had been purposefully enticing him since her arrival and he settled on continuing the argument at hand. "Of course I care about you," he said, trying in vain to steer the conversation in that direction. "You're my sister. I care a great deal about you. Just like you care about me, as a brother. With everything that has happened, I can understand how things could get mixed up for you."

"No Jon," she said with an air of control that belied bother her size and age. "I love you. I love you so much it scares me because everything I ever loved has been taken from me. I have so much hate inside me. I hate so many people. But you I love. And it proved to me that I could do something beyond simply hating the world and the gods and the Lannisters and everyone else. They tried to make me forget everything, the hate and the love. But it's still there. I feel it in my mind. I feel it in my heart. I feel it in my body. Can't you understand? I want you."

Jon felt his mouth go dry at her last words, visions of his dreams playing behind his eyes, of furs and flesh and those fiery eyes. He could feel the self-loathing return, but it seemed weaker now, the desire stronger. Vainly trying to regain control of the conversation, he said weakly, "Arya, you're still a child."

Jon saw by the way her face contorted in anger, that he had made a mistake with those words.

"I am no child," she said, with a coldness that was surprising as it was terrifying to hear come from her mouth. "When you last saw me at Winterfell, I was a child. Before we left for King's Landing, Sansa and Jeyne were always talking about boys and kissing. It would annoy me to hear them swoon over Joffrey and Theon. I couldn't understand why they would want to be with boys like them when you were around. Do you know who I wanted to kiss? You. I wanted you to be my first, even at the time I only had the vaguest notion what that meant. But that was a lifetime ago. I'm no longer than child. Nothing even close. I am a woman flowered.

"I could stake my claim and marry a lord to strengthen our chance at retaking the north. If mother had had her way, I would have already been married to some Lannister or Baratheon.

"But I was never destined to be a lady of the court, and I'm definitely not suited for her it now. You have no idea what I've done. I left my innocence behind me a long time ago. I wouldn't even know how to be a child.

"And I don't want to be a child. While I can no longer give you my first kiss, I can give you the last vestige of maidenhood I have left. I gave away everything else, but that I saved, by design and by the sword you yourself gave me. I love you and I want you. I know you desire me. I can see it. Don't be ashamed of your desires. I'm not. Do you think men are alone with their desires? I have needs too and I want you."

Shoving the table out of her way, sending the plates to the floor in a crash, she stalked toward him. Jon tried to stand, but tripped, sending his chair backward and sending him tumbling in a heap. Still she followed him, and he backed away on, scuttling on his rear until he felt his back bump into the bed. He was filled with terror, and he couldn't tell if his fear was for himself or for her. Or both.

Arya stood over him, her legs on either side of his own. She reached down with both hands to grasp the bottom of her shift, pulling upward and over her head. Underneath she wore no smallclothes and suddenly his vision was filled with pale skin, forbidden skin. The skin of his sister.

He tried to concentrate on her navel, the only safe place before him, but he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering. First upward to her small breasts, each tipped with a hard nipple giving truth to her words of her desire for him. Jon couldn't help but notice that they would fit nicely in his hands and reflexively his clenched his hands, miming the actions he found himself wanting to act out on them. Then, slowly, he looked downward, where her tiny waist bowed outward slightly with her hips. Arya had always been thin, but he couldn't deny she had the curves of a woman flowered. And between those curves was a gentle collection of dark brown hairs protecting and, with her legs spread slightly as she stood over him, only barely concealing her core, which she had just told him was untouched by any man.

Wrenching his eyes from her body, he forced himself to look her in the eyes and was surprised to see a vulnerability in her he hadn't seen since they had first reunited, her tears staining her face as greeted each other after so much time apart. At that moment, they had been brother and sister found. Now what were they? Despite his tormented feelings, he knew there was no going back to that time, regardless of the decisions he made next. And he knew that she knew the same.

"Tell me you don't love me like I love you and I'll leave," Arya said. "I'll stake my claim and you can marry me off to some wealthy lord. We'll take back our homeland and bring fury and vengeance against our enemies."

And that was it, he realized her courage. She had just bared her soul to him and was still giving him an out if he wanted to take it. And while he knew whatever gods were left in this world had already damned his soul, he also knew they would find a special hell just for him. Because he couldn't tell her he didn't want her. By the gods, he wanted her. But it wasn't simply desire and dreams of carnal acts that drove him to say what he did next.

"When I took the Black, I vowed to take no wife, no land, no title. I never intended to break those vows. I did twice. The first time was when I was infiltrating the wildlings. I met this woman. Ygritte. Until I met her, everything I had done was for either the Night's Watch or my own survival so I could report back to my commander. What I did with Ygritte I did for myself. She was hot-tempered and stubborn and thought she knew everything. Maybe she did. I do know she was a lot like you. I think I wanted her because she reminded me so much of you."

Until the words left him, Jon hadn't been aware of that connection, but now could see their truth. Looking back, it made sense. Just like Arya had evidently long loved him beyond the scope of brother and sister, part of him must had done the same for her.

"The second time I broke my vows was when Bolton said he had you. I sent men secretly to save you, but the mission was botched and I thought you dead. All I could think about was getting revenge on the man who had taken you from me. I didn't seek revenge for father, or Robb or even Bran and Rickon. Each time I sat behind the Wall and my vows. But when it was you I thought I had lost, there was nothing left, not gods, not vows, that were going to stop me. Something else did, but I've spent all of the time since working to take back the North. Not for me or even for father. But for you.

"So I can't tell you I don't know how you feel. May the gods damn me, I love you Arya Stark."

Arya had been quiet this whole time, and now he saw tears forming at the edges of her eyes.

"Do you think you're the only one who has broken vows? I was on my own path when I heard the new Lord Commander of the Night's Watch had been killed by his own men. I sailed west as soon as I could. I planned to make my way northward and finally complete my journey to the Wall, where I would kill every black brother I could find.

"When I felt you in Ghost, it was like father's gods were giving me another chance. Because either they accept my love for you or they can damn well get out of my way. For I'm not going to let you slip from my grasp again."

For the third time she launched herself at him, only this time he didn't fight back. Their lips met and soon their tongues were waging an entirely different battle from the one moments earlier.


	5. Broken Vows Pt 2

**Author's Note: **Many apologies for how long it's been since I updated this story. No good excuses, but I worked on a few of my other stories, and then spent the past several months totally blocked, not writing anything. But I'm back with a direct sequel to the last chapter. Warning: this is my first attempt at writing smut, so I hope you enjoy it. And if smut isn't your thing, well, hopefully I'll have another chapter up sometime soon. As always, reviews are welcome.

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Jon was loosely aware of the fact that Arya, his sister, was naked on her hands and knees straddling him, but his mind was more occupied by her kissing him. And him kissing her. Their mouths were locked together, tongues dancing as control of the kiss rolled back and forth. Then her fingers were in his hair and his arms moved seemingly out of his control as one hand threaded her hair and the other cupped her cheek.

Finally, they broke apart, both out of breath and staring into each other's eyes. The hand on her cheek brushed downward over her shoulder and onto her back, the other hand quickly following.

And the fact that Arya was as naked as the day she was born came crashing back over him, sending conflicting waves of emotion through his mind. She must have seen something in his expression because she attacked his mouth with even more fervor than before and soon thoughts were replaced once again with sensation.

The hunger he'd been feeling for his sister, the one he'd been trying in vain to control for weeks, now blazed within him, unleashed and burning bright. His hands roamed over Arya, caressing smooth skin, sliding over and below her shoulder blades down to the dip of her back. Then he was at her ass and instinctively his fingers squeezed at the soft flesh they found there. Arya moaned into his mouth and she lowered herself so their bodies were flush, her hips pressing down on his cock, which was rock hard and straining against his small clothes and breeches.

Arya evidently felt his length pressing up against her core and began rocking her hips, either out of instinct or knowledge picked up during her mysterious journeys. He hissed as the pressure sent waves of pleasure radiating through him. Arya moaned again and then pulled back from the kiss, a knowing smirk on her face. He met her with his own smile, which turned triumphant when he rocked his hips up into her and watched as her face contorted, another moan escaping her mouth. With a growl, Jon pulled her back until their lips were again locked together.

Assured she was properly distracted, he tightened his grip around her waist and lifted them both off the ground until he was standing straight, her legs wrapped around his hips. Turning around, he, without warning, tossed her from him so that she landed with a puff of surprise on top of the mass of sheets and furs making up his bed.

Arya let loose a keening sound of need, which just poured fuel onto the fire inside him, the hunger spiraling into an inferno which needed to be sated. He nearly jumped onto the bed, straddling her just as she had done him before. He so wanted to kiss her lips, which were now red and swollen and so incredibly inviting, but he didn't wanted to be distracted from the rest of her, and there was so much to explore and discover.

Jon started at her neck, leaving a trail of heavy, wet kisses down her collarbone and to the upper swell of her breasts, which, while flattened against her chest, rose up to, in his mind, two perfect mounds, each peaked by a pebble-sized hard brown nipple. He'd been distracted before by their other activities and hadn't allowed himself the opportunity to appreciate her beauty. Now he did, and what he found was almost literally breathtaking.

It took a moment to realize he had stopped stock-still and was staring. He glanced up to Arya's face in apology, only to find her expression was one of nervous questioning. Understanding came over him. This was most likely the first time she'd allowed a man, especially one she had feelings for, to see her like this.

"You are so beautiful," he said.

Then he set out to prove the vigor of his statement. Bringing over one of the hands holding up his weight, he gently cupped her right breast, squeezing a few times before running his thumb over the hard nipple at its center. Then he lowered his head to the other breast and took its peak in his mouth, sucking at the nipple and flicking his tongue back and forth. Arya cried out louder now, her mouth free from their kissing, her voice filling the tent with the sounds of want and need.

After thoroughly lavishing both breasts with hands and tongue, he continued his trek downward, pausing briefly at Arya's navel to gently kiss her belly. Then he met the first vestiges of the brown hair protecting her sex. From that core, he could smell her, prompting him to let loose another low growl. Kneeling down to give himself better access, he looked up briefly to meet Arya's eyes, silently asking for permission to continue. After so much doubt, they were moving so fast now. He wasn't sure where this path they found themselves on would eventually lead, but at this moment, he needed her consent before moving on to the next fork, and with a silent nod, she gave it.

Still staring at her, he slid off the bed, pulling her slightly toward him, his hands pushing her knees apart to open her to him. Breaking eye contact, he looked down at the prize before him, pink flesh already glistening with her desire. He started with kisses against her inner thighs, first one and then the other, each time working his way toward her center only to break away before reaching his final destination. Arya moaned and cried, her hands clenching into fists around the furs on either side of them, but soon he could hear a growing frustration in the sounds.

"Jon, please," she whispered, the first words she'd uttered since the kiss began.

So he gave her what she wanted, kissing the outer edges of her folds, before lathing his tongue along her length. He did this several times before letting his tongue dive into her, just barely, exploring her. Arya let loose a scream and bucked his hips so hard he had to concentrate to keep contact with her. Grabbing her hips with both hands to steady her, he continued his ministrations.

After awhile, he brought one hand over, running his finger up and down her slick folds before experimentally inserting the tip into her. She was so tight against him, but the resulting cries were of pleasure, not pain, encouraging him to press deeper, Then, on a whim, he added a second finger. His thumb reached up to press against the tiny nub at her core, playing and teasing. Arya's moans turned into incoherently babbling, interspersed with some of the foulest language he had ever heard, which both shocked and enticed him to hear in his little sister's voice. It spurred him onward, interchanging his fingers, thumb and tongue, listening to her cries to guide him through the storm of her arousal.

Arya invaded all of his senses. He could taste her, a tangy nectar that felt at the moment like the elixir of life itself. He could smell her desire and his face was awash with her. Her cries filled his ears. And now her hands were everywhere, threading through his hair or pressing down on the back of his head to encourage his mouth deeper into her, urging him to bring her to completion.

He knew the moment she broke part underneath him, jerking and bucking in his grip, then frozen stock still as a scream unleashed from her tiny body. From his vantage point between her thighs, he couldn't see her face, but he imagined her head arched back, her mouth open in ecstasy. Then her body slackened and he slowed his efforts, carrying her through her release.

Crawling back onto the bed and over her, Jon found Arya's eyes closed, a smile on her face. He placed kisses around her mouth until she opened her eyes, leaning up to catch him in what he could only describe as a loving embrace. He leaned down to rest his forehead against her shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of Arya's chest. Her quick, labored breaths rustled his hair with warm puffs of air.

Jon felt Arya's arms suddenly on his shoulders, pushing him up and away from her. Before he could question her motives, she said, "You're wearing too many clothes. Take them off."

He couldn't hide the laugh that escaped him. Sitting up, he said respectfully, "Yes, m'lady." He knew his smile gave him away, but Arya still met him with a brief scowl.

Her expression turned to one of curiosity, however, when he stood up and began pulling his shirt over his head. When he could see again, Arya was looking at him with such intensity that he found himself overcome with a case of bashfulness, a tiny part of him hoping that what she saw met well with her expectations of him. Then the thought of her wanting him like he wanted her quickened his pace. After unlacing his breeches, he pulled them and his small clothes down in one go, his cock breaking free at last from its cloth prison.

Jon joined her on the bed, holding himself above her before leaning down to kiss her mouth. He slowly lowered himself, careful to keep his full weight off of her but enjoying the feeling of their naked bodies touching at last, his cock pressed between their stomachs. The kiss deepened and her felt her hand against his side, persistent until he rose enough to give her access. Her fingers reached around his length and get a few experimental tugs, not hard enough to hurt but enough to elicit a hiss of pleasure as they continued to kiss.

He felt her thumb rub over the head of his cock, which was already oozing, and he fought the urge to buck his hips against hers. He lost that battle within moments, however, and Arya moved him so his length rubbed against her moist slit which each thrust. She spread the moisture around, closing her fist around him, pumping his cock in time with him.

Despite the mind-bending pleasure, he pulled back from the kiss and looked her in the eyes, searching them for any doubts.

"I've been told the first time hurts a maiden," he said, his voice rising and falling with her motions on his cock.

She gave a nervous laugh. "I'm sure sticking your cock in me," she said, gesturing downward, "will hurt a bit, but while no man has entered me, I lost my maidenhead long ago. In fact, you are partially to blame, taking me horseback riding so often at Winterfell."

"What?" Jon asked, dumbfounded.

'Unlike the stories Sansa loved, life is always a messy affair," Arya said.

"So true," Jon replied, taking a moment to kiss her again.

Breaking the kiss, he lifted himself up and positioned his cock, feeling the head press gently against her sex. Earlier, after Arya made her confession, Jon realized that there was no returning to what they'd had before he walked into the tent with their dinners. He feared that he was losing his sister, the last of his family. Since then, they'd crossed barrier after barrier, acting as their bodies demanded and to hell with what they'd been taught was wrong and right. And before him, she was still Arya, still his sister, but now something more, something they were still discovering together.

But this next step. This last boundary between separation and wholeness was no line in the sand. It was a wall, as tall and imposing as the one he once swore to protect and forsake all others. That had been a vow he was unable to fulfill, and he wondered how he ever expected to be able to forsake Arya.

He lowered himself slightly, not enough to enter her but for both of them to feel the pressure. He met her eyes. And although it pained him, he somehow found the words he had to say.

"Are you sure?" Jon asked.

He had to know. If he were to cross this wall with her, he had to be absolutely sure of her desires, and a simple nod was not enough.

"Please Jon," Arya said, but her expression showed that she understood, on some level, his hesitation.

"I need you to say it, Arya," he said.

"Yes, Jon," she answered. "With you, always."

And then the wall was gone, as if it was never there. All that remained was Arya, his sister, naked and looking at him with such love and wanting, not just for his cock but for him, mind, body and soul.

In that moment, he realized no one else in his entire life had ever looked at him like that. He never knew his mother. Caitlyn barely tolerated his existence and would not show him kindness, let alone love. Sansa has been cordial more out of obligation than from any true fondness. Ygritte, well, he never knew what she was thinking, but he doubted it ever really amounted to love.

Only Arya had ever shown him love. She and she alone. As a sister. As a friend. Now as something more. And he felt a wave of emotions crash down on him. Fear. Love. Loathing. Desire. Sadness. Anger. Adoration. Some were directed at Arya. Some at himself. And the rest at the world lying in wait outside the tent walls, both past and future.

Arya, evidently confused by his frozen state, said softly, "Jon, not sure what happens next? You're the one who's done this before, but I'm fairly certain it is a simple affair. Just stick me with the pointy end."

He laughed and then followed her advice, pressing down to part her lower lips, and he could feel the tip of his cock sink into her. While every instinct shouted for him to bury himself to the hilt, he went slowly, trying to give her time to adjust to his girth. She moaned, and this time he could hear the hints of pain within the pleasure. Soon enough, the head of his cock was inside, her walls squeezing him like nothing he'd ever experienced.

"Are you alright," he asked.

"Yes, keep going," Arya said through clenched teeth. "Just go slowly," she added a moment later.

He thrust himself further into her, feeling her stretch to accommodate him. He pulled out slightly and thrust again, repeating the technique until he his entire length was enveloped within her velvety folds. He leaned forward to kiss her mouth, and she met him, her eyes shut against the pain.

It took every drop of control he had to stay still and give her time. He took the moment to look down at where their bodies were joined, fascinated by the sight of his cock disappearing into her. Into Arya. Into his favorite sister. They were one now. After so much time apart, they had found each other, and he vowed silently that he would protect her and they would be together as long as the gods allowed. And he knew this was a vow he would keep.

"Jon," Arya said at last. "I'm ready."

"I love you," he said in response.

And then he was moving, pumping his cock into her, trying to be gentle but admittedly failing. Soon she was moaning again, leaning up to bury her face in his shoulder, spurring him on, pounding into her harder.

Her moans heightened and now she was bucking her hips to meet the pace he'd set, their motions in sync. He was surprised when he felt her lose control, breaking off the rhythm and her body went rigid once more, her inner walls squeezing his cock like a vice.

It was enough to send him over the edge, and at the last second, he pulled himself free of her, his cock spurting out across her belly, one strand marking the lower swell of right breast. And with that, his energy failed him, his arms unable to hold her weight. He twisted so he fell next to her instead of on top of her.

They were both panting, a sheen of sweat covering both their naked bodies. He craned his neck over and kissed Arya, cutting off her panting.

"Are you alright," he asked again.

"Wonderful," she said.

Rolling over, he left her on the bed and walked over to the remains of their dinner, now scattered on the floor where it landed when Arya knocked over the table. He reached down and grabbed a cloth, dampening it in his water basin before returning to the bed. He gently cleaned her of his mess, tossing aside the cloth when he was done.

Pulling several pillows together, he propped himself against them and pulled Arya so she was sitting in his lap, cradled in his arms.

"Was it good for you?" she asked at last, that nervousness back again.

"Best moments of my life," he said. "The only thing that compares is holding you, having you with me here," he said.

"I love you Jon," she said.

"I love you Arya."


End file.
